You Don't Know How Lovely
by Nyxierose
Summary: In which the unbreakable girl and the marble statue fall into something that is not quite love but as close as either of them ever hoped to come. (Obviously) slightly AU.
1. Introductions

It's not that she hates weddings. Nothing wrong with people settling down and celebrating their love. It's just that the people in question are currently near the top of her "people who need to _stop_" list, right underneath her parents - and the blonde's pretty close to earning the top spot. One more glimpse of puppy eyes and Eponine just might make a run for it. She's good at that after all. But really, out of all the women in Paris, Marius had to choose _that_. It figures.

In the distance, she can see her parents doing their usual thing, and she whispers a silent prayer of thanks to whatever's in the sky that she doesn't especially look like them. There's a bit of resemblance, yes, but only if one tries to find it. From a distance, she's just another young woman at a wedding reception, albeit a questionably dressed one. She feels awkward, out of place, and it's almost enough to make her forget that she's here under duress. If it had been anyone else, she would've told them where they could stick the idea of her turning up, but for _him_… oh, she's utterly hopeless.

She inches back against the wall on the far side of the room, away from most of the herd. Out of habit, she doesn't look to see if anyone's there, and her eyes remain focused on the floor. It's a pretty floor, she thinks. Maybe if she stares at it long enough, she'll fade into the wallpaper and be forgotten. But no, she thinks, there's no way she'll be that lucky.

"I do hope there's some fire in her."

She knows that voice. _Blast_, she knows that voice. One of the older boys her brother always follows around, the one that survived, the leader, the pretty one. Eponine looks up and, sure enough, she's right. Oh, as if this day couldn't get any worse. So much for that hope.

"She looks like an icicle," Eponine replies, making cautious eye contact with the boy. "No offenses meant to anyone, but he could've done better."

The boy glances at her and smiles, perhaps the first genuine smile she's received from anyone in a solid month. "Bad enough he found the need to settle down," Enjolras laughs. "If he had to, though… why _her_?"

Eponine rolls her eyes. "Because she's pretty, and men are shallow, and the pretty girls always get what they want in the end. The rest of us…"

"Have to fight," he interjects. "I understand. Although, between you and me, I'd much prefer character over beauty. Apparently our friend thinks differently."

A moment of recognition passes between the two, and it's a few moments more before she speaks again. "I suppose it's good there's only us two left to see it. The others…"

"Are no doubt enjoying themselves in the spectator halls of heaven." He pauses, smiling at her again. "As it is, perhaps we ought to enjoy it for them."

"I'd quite like that, monsieur."

"No, no formalities," he counters. "It's Enjolras. And you are?"

"Eponine." She looks around, noting that her family has apparently vanished. No doubt they've been kicked out, in that way that they always are. She takes it as a sign that she should make her exit before anyone makes a connection. "Please forgive me, but I must be on my way. Adieu, monsieur."

He watches her leave, noting how small she is, how unexpectedly graceful, how certain. He can't say for sure what the girl's problem is, but if he's right, Marius Pontmercy is idiot of the century. This, however, Enjolras keeps to himself. No need to pick fights right now… after all, it _is_ a special occasion.


	2. Close Encounters

Two weeks have passed since the wedding, and true to form, it's been one of the stranger periods of Eponine's life. As if she has any right to use that label for anything anymore. Oh well, it's not like she cares what she should or shouldn't do. What matters is that her parents have done it again, gone and vanished, and she's stuck in a strange city with only her wits and a questionably reliable sibling for support. Nothing against Gavroche, but he's near impossible to find anymore. As a result, Eponine's been on her own for three days, and she's getting dreadfully sick of it.

Today she wanders the streets, a dejected look on her face that no one sees because no one sees _her_. Three days she's tried to be good, three days since she last ate, and she's about desperate enough to return to old habits. She really shouldn't, she thinks - but there's not much out there for a girl like her, and if it's a choice between lifting someone's wallet and offering her body, she'll take the former option.

She works her way into a safe position, a crowded market that she knows will offer enough protection if she times it right, and waits for suitable prey. The fashionable young men of Paris frequent this district, and it's just a matter of which one looks most appealing for her purposes. She makes a point of not paying too much attention to anyone around her, lest she might be remembered. The less she knows about her victim, the better.

An acceptable moment comes and she lunges, fingers slipping into a pocket that is… oh _merde_, it's empty. Well, now she's gone and done it. Her hand stays just a second too long, and her body freezes as she awaits the inevitable. And to think she was the one member of her family who wasn't supposed to go down this road, the one who tried to be better. It figures she'd get caught.

She closes her eyes as fingers curl around her wrist and she hears a voice, that same blasted familiar voice that seems to be a part of every questionable moment of her life. "Wrong pocket, I'm afraid," he mutters, then does a double take as he looks at her. "Oh… what are _you_…"

Eponine's mind immediately defaults into panic mode. "I'm sorry, but I have my reasons. Now, if you'll just let me go, I promise I won't…"

"Not without an explanation," Enjolras counters. There's a certain weight in his eyes as he stares at her, and it's clear he's not sure what to make of the situation. _Well, that makes two of us, _she thinks.

"It's a long story," she starts, forcing a smile. "The short version is that, through a series of circumstances, I'm on my own again and… I'm desperate, and this is more honorable than…"

"You don't need to say it." His grip on her wrist loosens, and he turns to get a better view of her. The girl looks like hell, which is quite a statement considering he can't remember a time when she actually looked decent. Pretty, in her way, but certainly nothing like the society women he's used to being around. Without any warning, an idea begins to form. "It's alright. I can help you, take care of you."

"I couldn't," she counters. "I don't need anyone's charity, least of all yours."

"I'm not offering charity, mademoiselle. It's the least I can do. At least allow me to get you some food. The remnant has claimed a new space, and I promise you would be welcomed there as long as you might need."

She looks away, not wanting him to see the tears that are starting to well up in her eyes. "Thank you," she replies, taking his hand properly now. A bit forward, but under the circumstances she could justify anything. "If you're sure…"

"I've never been known for second thoughts. At least do me the courtesy of leaving that reputation intact." He squeezes her hand, wondering what's to come of this encounter. "I promise, I won't let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever. And I'm not known for breaking promises either." Although, if ever there was someone who could make him change his mind about anything, it just might be this girl…


	3. Beauty In The Breakdown

She has never felt more vulnerable. As a general rule, she is bulletproof, all but impossible to scare or push over the edge. The cruel realities of the world she knows have done little to taint those tendencies, but innocent attention is a different animal entirely and she's not sure what to think. She can't remember the last time she felt wanted, but she knows it was nothing like this, and though she's not sure what's going on, she's willing to go with it. Really, what does she have left to lose?

"Thank you," she says for what has to be the twentieth time in the last half hour. It seems to be the only phrase she can coherently muster, and it's still appropriate. After all, he's purchased food for her and seems to genuinely care about her existence. Well, either that or he's faking it, but he just doesn't seem like the type. He seems… better, somehow. She can't describe it, but she likes it.

"You don't need to keep saying that," he replies, eyes focused on her. The few feet between them, the simple table and chairs, are meaningless for now. "It's not as if I saved your life or anything. I simply did the decent human thing."

She blushes - she's pretty when she does that, he thinks - and looks away. "It's still a lot more than I'd ever expect from anyone. You have to understand that, at least."

He waits a few moments before speaking, not sure how to respond to such defensiveness. It's tempting to get to his feet and join her, wrap his arms around her, use his lips in a different way to make it damn clear that he's not just playing with her - but no, not now. It wouldn't be right. He settles for curiosity. "Tell me about yourself, Eponine. How did you… what happened?"

She blinks, glances away, looks everywhere but at him. What does he even _want_ from her? People like that don't waste their time on people like her - but when she looks back and sees the desperate worried look in his eyes, she figures it's high time to make an exception to all of her carefully constructed rules.

"It's always been like this," she begins. "My parents are… not good people. If they could, they did. I had it worse than my siblings. Gavroche ran as soon as he had the sense to know he should, and I always defended the others, took the punishments that were meant for them. After a while, I didn't even notice new bruises."

He reaches out to her and curls his fingers around her wrist. "And then?" There's no judgment in his voice, only the beginnings of sympathy. "I know that isn't all. Please, tell me."

"It got worse as I got older. They-" her voice chokes up "-they… I'm not an innocent anymore. Not as I should be. Money mattered more than my honor. I have never done such things by choice, but it happened. I never found the strength to leave. For a while, there was a bright spot, but he loved another and I remained as I was. And then… then they disappeared. It's been three days. I never thought I'd miss them, but I've never been so alone, and…"

With that, she starts crying. Enjolras squeezes her hand, unsure of what to do with a justifiably wounded woman. He likes to think he's good in a crisis, but apparently that's all been a nice delusion. Fantastic, just what he didn't need to know. Carefully, he stands up and walks around the table to where she is, all the while keeping his grip on her. "I'm not sure what to say to that, but… I'm sorry."

Again she blushes, her tear-stained cheeks turning redder than usual. "R-really?" she stammers between sobs. "You mean it?"

"Of course," he replies. "I wouldn't lie to you, especially not about something that matters."

She stands and, before he processes what's going on, he has a crying girl in his arms. He lets her stay there, strokes her hair, and - when it seems she's on the verge of stopping - brushes his lips against hers for a brief moment. It doesn't count for anything, he thinks, but it could be a start. "Where are you staying tonight?"

"I… I don't know," she replies, her mind reeling from the almost kiss. Stranger by the minute, this one, although she's not sure she minds. "Somewhere on the street, most likely."

In a heartbeat, he shifts, becoming more protective than he's been in a long time. "I can't allow that. I know it's horribly forward, but… come with me tonight. There's space in my apartment. Not a lot, but you're welcome to it for as long as you need."

"Thank you," she whispers, on the verge of relapsing into tears. "It _is_ forward, but I trust you won't…"

"I'd never," he says vehemently. _Perhaps someday with her full permission_, he thinks, but now is no time to voice that intention. "You will be safe with me, I promise."


	4. So Close, So Far

The apartment would be considered small by normal standards, but by hers it is lovely. A decent-sized room, simply furnished with enough creature comforts for a single person, and oddly spacious. She has to put up a proper effort to remain calm as he lights a candle, then another off of it. "It's beautiful," she whispers, finally unable to control herself. "I'm not sure why but it is."

"It's not much," he shrugs, "but it's home. You're welcome to whatever you need, but first you really should rest." He can't remember having to be this protective of anyone before, but he has no idea what the girl might do without instructions. There's no doubt she's more intelligent than the average street rat, but a lost young woman isn't exactly something he has a strategy for and he hates having to improvise. Oh well, too late now…

On instinct, she goes for the armchair. It doesn't look like much, but last night she slept in a doorway and at least she'll be warm here. She's halfway there when he grabs her shoulder with a bit more force than is absolutely necessary. "No," he orders. "You'll take the bed, understand?"

She glares at him, wide-eyed and shocked but still every bit as stubborn as she's capable of being. "No. I don't mean to impose, and I couldn't."

He shakes his head. "When I said I'd look after you, I didn't mean for you to curl up in a chair that's been in my family since before my mother was born. That won't do. Bed. Now."

"I'm not going to!" she exclaims. "Go ahead and be nice to me if it makes you feel better, but I'm not going to get in your way like that. I'm not that kind of girl."

He shakes his head, wondering why the universe saw fit to shove him together with the most headstrong young woman in Paris. "Don't you understand? You need it more than I do."

An idea comes to her and her dark eyes light up as a devious smile spreads across her face. She's a Thénardier, after all, and sometimes all she can do is rely on the family strengths. "There's only one thing we can do then," she says, tilting her head. "The bed's big enough for two people. I trust you. Where's the harm in…"

"No," Enjolras counters, matching her glare. "I couldn't. It wouldn't be right."

"By your standards, none of this is right," she mutters, shaking her head. "But really, think of the circumstances. It's already quite forward for me to be here at all. We might as well make the best of that situation. And besides, blankets don't make a good substitute for human warmth."

At her last comment, he feels his cheeks flush. The idea of caving in is all too tempting, but… no, he can't. He shouldn't. Not with all he knows, not when it's so clear she still has ideals and he's pretty sure he doesn't want to feed them. On the other hand, she has a point, and he's not too fond of the idea of a night in the horrid armchair. "Fine," he growls. "But only this once."

For a moment he's worried she's going to tackle him or something equally stupid, but instead she walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. He notices she's barefoot and curses himself for not noticing earlier. Some new things are definitely in order - he has a cousin, Béatrice, who's about the right size and could be talked into donating the unused half of her wardrobe. Then again, that might require explanations, and he'd rather not talk through the story of how Eponine gatecrashed his life. Weird enough that it even happened, thank you very much.

After a few heartbeats of awkward silence, she swings her legs onto the bed and curls up in a ball as close to the wall as possible. Still, her eyes remain locked on him. "Come join me?" she asks once she's slipped underneath the blankets. "I know you don't want to, but… please?"

Sheepishly, he sheds his shoes and jacket and does as he's told. As he shifts into a comfortable position next to her, trying carefully not to touch her, he realizes this is the closest he's ever gotten to a woman, and as his eyes close, all he can think of is the almost-kiss. Oh what has he gotten himself into…


	5. At Least I Tried

When she wakes, it's midday and she's alone. It takes an unexpected amount of effort to convince herself that this is real and she's not trapped in a dream, but eventually she snaps back into reality. If it were a dream, she tells herself… well, she can't explain why it would be different, but it _would_ be. That, at least, is a nice certainty - and right now, she'll take what she can get.

She does a little exploring, glancing around the room and taking a decent look at everything in it. One of the first things that catches her eye is a note left on the small table, written in a careful hand and clearly meant for her. _"Stay. Rest. You're welcome to whatever you need." _Well, Eponine thinks, there's no way she's going to follow those instructions. Staying in the apartment isn't even a question, and helping herself is barely one, but actually resting? Oh no. The room is an unorganized mess, and if she's going to stick around, she might as well earn her keep somehow…

Several hours later - it's evening now, though still light out - he returns and has to brace himself against the door. Everything in the room, all of the carefully arranged papers and books and personal items, is in a different place. Enjolras is not an especially organized man, but he at least generally has some idea where everything is - or at least he did. Not anymore, he thinks, giving Eponine a curious look. The girl looks pleased with herself, and he really can't fault her for that, but of all the things she could've done, she had to do _this_. Wonderful.

"Do you like it?" she asks as if on cue. "I thought… I figured I might as well do something, try to earn my keep." For good measure, she makes the best pair of puppy eyes he's ever seen, though she doesn't mean to. It just seems like a good idea, and she's used to going with those moments.

"Like it?" he stammers, putting a hand to his forehead. In truth, he's tempted to yell at her for a good ten minutes about how he is never going to find _anything_, but he can't find it in himself to do that. Maybe if someone else had crossed those lines, but not her. "I guess I didn't make it clear that you don't have to do anything for me in exchange for…"

"But I want to," she interrupts. "And isn't that how the world works? You don't get something for nothing, period. And since you've been so nice to me, and I couldn't think of anything else…"

"Thank you." It takes more effort than he expects to keep a straight face, but somehow he manages. "But please, don't feel obligated to do things. You don't owe me anything. And… if you could please not touch my desk, _ever_, that would be nice."

She stares at the floor, blushing slightly and clearly ashamed of herself. All she'd meant to do was help out a bit, but apparently that didn't work out so well. What was she even thinking? Nice boys like him - and he _is_ nice, she decides - don't need girls like her in their lives. She should've figured that out by now. "I'm sorry. I just thought…"

"Don't apologize." His voice is solid, firm. "You tried, and there's no harm in that."

For no apparent reason, she laughs. "If you think I'm just going to hang around here and be passive, though… not gonna happen. I'm not one of those girls."

"I never thought you were," he replies. "That's why I noticed you."

She's not sure what to say to that, so she smiles at him. Whatever it is that he wants from her, she doubts she has anything to worry about.


	6. Bittersweet, part 1

A few weeks pass and they fall into a routine. He's found work as a lawyer, taking cases no one else will touch, and he's never around as much as he'd like to be. Meanwhile, she takes up people-watching. It's not too different from what she's always done, she supposes, except that nowadays she isn't looking for acceptable victims. She's just looking, period, developing a fascination with the world she can barely be a part of. It's terrible and wonderful at the same time, and after a few adventures, she decides she'd quite like to draw some of what she's seen. It doesn't take much to convince Enjolras to give her pencils and a sketchbook - in all honesty, he's thrilled that she's found a hobby - and thus a new obsession is born.

After a few more adventures, Eponine finds an acceptable place to work on her project. A particular square attracts a decent variety of people, and she spends most of her days there, sketching whatever seems interesting at the time. On rainy days, she remains sequestered in the flat, but otherwise she's determined to be social - or something like that. She'd like to become a generally better human being, but first she needs to be shown how, and spying on randoms is as good a way as any to make that happen.

On a certain day a few weeks into this existence - it's summer again, nearly a year since they lost so many friends - everyone in the square seems to be in love. It seems that wherever she turns, young children are holding hands or people her age are kissing or older couples are whispering affections. She knows she ought to remain calm, ought to be happy for them, but she can't. Why them? Why do all these randoms get to have something nice when all she's got is a moody housemate who treats her more like a pet than a would-be lover? She doesn't know, but it bothers her.

She's still in a dark mood several hours later, sprawled on the bed with her hands over her eyes as if suffering from an awful headache, when she hears the door open. Without thinking, she rolls over and greets Enjolras with a low-pitched sound somewhere between a moan and a growl. Instinctively, he darts over to her. "What happens?" he asks, voice shaking and pulse racing. "Did someone…"

"No," she interjects, a certain tone of bitterness in her voice. "But wouldn't you just love that. You only seem to like me when I need to be taken care of. I might as well be a damned _kitten _for all the attention you give me."

Needless to say, he's a bit taken aback. "What?" he stammers, taking two cautious steps away from her. "What makes you say that?"

"I went out today," she answers, getting to her feet. "I went out and everywhere I turned, I saw people in love. Young, old, _our age_… and I guess I felt jealous of what they've got." She shrugs, as if this rant is the most natural thing in the world. "I don't have a fairytale. I've got _you_, and as nice as that is, it's not exactly what I hoped for when I was little."

He can almost taste the venom in her voice, and he knows he probably ought to duck for cover before she actually starts threatening him with the nearest object, but he can't find the nerve. Instead, he stares at her, wide-eyed and frozen. "What do you want from me?" he asks, his tone surprisingly even. "What is it that I haven't done?"

"This," she replies, and then she charges across the distance between them and smashes her mouth against his without the slightest warning. In that moment, he swears he can taste her fire, but he's a little too preoccupied by everything else - her fingernails digging into his upper arms, her body writhing and his all but unresponsive, heat and tension and…

Just as quickly as she pounced, she jumps back. Her face is bright red, her breathing uneven, and her body shaking. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "That… was not supposed to go the way it did."

He clears the distance again and gently puts his hand under her chin, forcing her to make eye contact with him. "It's alright. No harm done."

"I needed to," she mutters. "Might not have been the best idea, but I've wanted…"

"You don't have to say it." They exchange a knowing glance. "Definitely not the best idea, but I wanted it too."

Her lips curve into a small smile. "You're too kind to me."

"Kind," he repeats, saying the word as if it's an awful curse. "Not that, never that. Not with you anymore. I'm not sure what's happened, but…"

She puts a finger on his lips, silencing him. "You don't have to say it," she laughs in a near-perfect mimic of his tone just moments earlier. "I don't know what it is either, but maybe we can find out?"

His fingers curl around her wrist, pulling her away. "If it's what you'd like."

"It is." She leans up and kisses the tip of his nose. "Everyone thinks we're like that anyways. We might as well confirm them."


	7. An Invitation

Another few weeks pass, and yet little changes between them. At the same time, _everything_ changes, but they barely notice the little shifts. It's perfectly natural when he turns up late - and he is always late now, as much as he wishes otherwise - and she kisses his face in greeting. In the same way, it becomes natural for them to be as close as possible to each other when given the chance, be they entwined in bed at night or curled up in the armchair that was never meant to hold two people. Little things, perhaps, but significant in their way.

Then comes a night when he gets back earlier than usual, a letter in hand that he'd quite like to destroy as soon as possible. He's crumpled half of it into a ball and has plans to set the whole thing on fire, but he knows to wait. Or, at least, to explain the situation before doing anything drastic. A dinner party, of all things…. oh, there's no way this could end well.

"What's that?" Eponine asks as if on cue, spotting the piece of parchment and jumping for it.

"Nothing," he replies, pulling back at exactly the right moment. "Nothing that concerns you, at least."

"That's no way to talk to a lady," she laughs. Over the last few weeks, she's come into herself a little more, and while it's definitely an improvement over the condition she was in when she crashed into his life, sometimes Enjolras wonders how that happened. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.

"Fine," he mutters. It's better to just tell her and get it over with. "It's… we've been invited to a little party. Apparently a certain friend of ours has decided to show off."

Again as if on cue, she rolls her eyes. "He _would._" As if there's any doubt in her mind that Marius is behind this. "Well, _I _am going to go, and you ought to. You're always here with me… you never do anything interesting…"

Quite a few comebacks run through his mind, but none of them seem safe to speak aloud considering how hard she could hit him - and he's in no mood for unnecessary bruises, thank you very much. Instead, he shrugs. "After the life I've had, a little quiet is nice."

She shakes her head. "You've turned into a hermit. I'm pretty sure that's not what you intended. And wouldn't _they _be frustrated with you if they could see what you've become?"

Well, at least the girl's smart enough to hit him where it hurts. It's only been a few weeks since the nightmares slowed their frequency - they'll never stop, he's not dumb enough to hope for that - and being guilt-tripped by his ghosts is enough to make him do just about anything. "Fine. You have a point."

Instantly, her face lights up. "So we'll go?"

"Of course," he replies, wishing there was a way to get out of this one. An evening stuck with an old friend is the last thing he wants right now, but _she_ wants it, and the worst part is he can't fault her for it. Being cooped up can't be good for the girl, and who the hell is he to begrudge her a little exposure to society? "It'll be…"

"Fun?" she fills in.

"Something like that. It's just…" he pauses for a moment, trying to find the right words. "They don't know about our… arrangement. I accepted the invitation for you under the grounds that we've become friends recently, which isn't a _complete_ lie, but… it's better if they don't find out."

"Understood." Reputations and all that, she thinks, as if hers could possibly get any worse. Really, compared to half the things she's done in the last couple of years, holing up with a young man she's not even sure she fancies is practically saintlike. "We're friends, though. They can know that, right?"

Enjolras considers the idea. On the one hand, there's no point in lying to his only remaining friend any more than is absolutely necessary. On the other hand, given that said friend is king of the hopeless romantics, so much as hinting at recent developments could be borderline suicidal. He usually doesn't believe in no-win scenarios, but this one comes close. "Yes," he says after a few moments. "They can know that."

"And if I kiss you in front of everyone?" Eponine laughs, clearly considering the idea.

"Just don't. Please. Just… don't even consider it." And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, he almost hopes she will. If nothing else, it'll be easier than explaining the tangled web otherwise known as his personal life…


	8. An Ally

As it turns out, the party isn't really a party at all, just two couples gathered for an attempt at being social that no one is entirely comfortable with. Cosette, who had the brilliant idea of having people 'round in the first place, is slightly mortified by the whole affair. She has friends of her own, decent society women, but no - this evening is supposed to be a distraction for her husband, and having any of her peers around might be problematic. Well, she supposes, he's certainly distracted. He's got that weird look on his face, the one that implies there are going to be nightmares aplenty for the next couple of days, and she hates herself for even thinking this was a good idea. Clearly, she was wrong.

For her part, Eponine is pretty sure she's going to die of boredom. She'd expected something interesting, but instead she's had two hours of awkward small talk and lies she never thought she'd have to tell. As far as she's concerned, if there was a list of people who were allowed to know that she's basically a kept woman now, her childhood enemy would not be on it. If she has to come up with one more fake explanation, she's going to find a weapon - she's sure there's a gun somewhere in the house, and she's already spotted several ceremonial swords - and destroy something. She is _that bored_.

Once the meal is finished, Cosette decides to act. She gets to her feet, subconsciously putting her hand on her stomach for just a heartbeat, and smiles at the other woman. "How about we leave these two to their own devices and go discuss more feminine things?" she suggests, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"I'd love to," Eponine replies without thinking twice. Really, what does she have to lose?

Approximately four minutes later, she finds out. In the sanctity of the girliest room she's ever seen - Cosette says it's a dressing room, but by then the explanation barely registers - the claws come out. "Okay," the blonde says, putting a hand on her hip. "Details. Now."

Needless to say, Eponine is taken aback. "Details?" she repeats, well aware exactly where this is going and equally aware that she'd give anything to make it stop. "What do you mean?"

"Don't lie to me," Cosette counters. "I know something's going on between you and Enjolras. Last time I checked - well, last time Marius checked - you two barely knew each other. Tonight, you've clung to him. Explain."

Eponine takes a deep breath. "It's a long story. Sufficient to say, he found me when I was in a bad place, and he's sort-of… looked after me since then."

Cosette raises her eyebrows, not believing any of this. "You're in love with him. And given that he didn't take his eyes off you from the moment you two turned up to the moment I pulled you away, I'd say he feels the same way."

"It's not like that!" Eponine exclaims. "I mean… I do see him that way, but…"

"Then stop pretending you don't," Cosette interjects. "You've done that once in your life, and we both know how well _that_ turned out. Don't do that to yourself again. You're better than that."

"But I'm not," Eponine mutters. "It's just… I'm not any good for him. I'm not any good for anyone."

Cosette responds by taking a few steps closer and embracing the other woman. "But you are. Do you think the hermits' reunion would be going on downstairs if you weren't involved?"

"Probably not," Eponine replies, almost laughing.

"Well then. Let's pretty you up - not that you don't look decent _now_, but I've got some lovely dresses I'm never going to wear again - and show them both what they're missing."


	9. A Confrontation

Things get progressively more awkward once the women leave, at least as far as Enjolras is concerned. The list of things he and Marius are capable of having a decent conversation about is fairly small to begin with, and most of the possible topics involve things that neither of them actually wants to talk about. An uneasy silence settles, and they both stare anywhere but at each other, hoping something will happen. Anything would be better than this current state.

"So… what's going on with you and Eponine?" Marius asks after a while, innocently curious as always. "The last time I looked, you wouldn't waste two seconds on her, and now…"

"We're friends," Enjolras replies a little too quickly.

"Which means you like her." Marius's eyes light up, his mind racing with potential ways to get his dear friend back for the weeks of harassment that followed Cosette's entry into their world. "Does she know?"

"It'd be hard for her not to, seeing as we're around each other almost all the time now, but… it's not like that. I don't want to hurt her."

"Have you _seen_ her?" Marius laughs. "Even I didn't hear too much about it, but if the little insights she gave me were anything to go by, Eponine Thénardier is bulletproof. I wouldn't be too worried about what you could do to her - there's no chance you could outdo anything that's already happened."

For a moment, Enjolras is taken aback, but then he remembers the little things - the way she looks at him like he's some sort of angel after she wakes up from a nightmare stands out - and shakes his head. Unfortunately, his friend has a point there. "But still. What if she doesn't want me?"

"And what girl in their right mind would do that?" Another laugh - Marius is clearly enjoying himself, playing this situation for all it's worth. "I don't know how she crashed into your life or what's actually happened, and I'm not dumb enough to ask for all the details, but if you really see her that way, the least you could do is tell her. Trust me."

Enjolras shakes his head again. "I can't. She's so vulnerable, and I don't want to push her away."

"That's the last thing you need to worry about. She's pretty stubborn, and if she's put up with your brooding and random intellectual tangents, I'd say you're stuck with her for life."

"Fine." Enjolras stands up straighter, a determined look on his face. "I love her."

And just as the words are out of his mouth, a door opens and everything goes to hell.


	10. Little Ashes

It's bad enough that she's standing there in a fine dark blue dress, the sort of piece she always wanted but is having second thoughts about now that she has it. Even worse that her former rival is standing behind her with a wide grin on her face. But as far as Eponine's concerned, the final straw is an overheard phrase from the last person she ever expected would say such a thing. "You _what_?" she gasps, almost refusing to believe it.

"Told you," Cosette coos, trying (and failing) to calm things down.

"Ep, I…" Enjolras starts, clueless once more. What is it about that girl that makes him unable to behave normally? Does he even _want_ to know? Dammit, now is probably not the time for this. "It's true. I've realized that I love you."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" she snaps, hands on her hips and a piercing glare on her face. "Why is it that the only reason I know this is because you told _him_?"

"I meant to tell you."

"Yeah? When were you going to do that?"

"Calm down, you two," Marius interjects, stepping between the dueling couple. Probably not his brightest idea ever, but as far as he's concerned, his luck is impeccable and there's no way this could go wrong. "Isn't it more romantic to find out this way? More memorable, perhaps?"

Enjolras responds by tensing up and, a few moments later, punching his friend. There's a time and place and this probably isn't it, but Marius has gone far enough and… oh, _great_, now the poor bastard's bleeding and clutching his nose. "That was not supposed to go the way it did," Enjolras mutters, well aware that no one's actually listening to him.

"What were you thinking?" Eponine growls, and if it's possible for the look on her face to intensify any further, it does. "Aren't you supposed to be intelligent? I'm not sure how that…"

"Good idea at the time," he counters, cutting her off. "He was saying dreadful things about you, and I thought…"

"Listen, you may be my current object of affections, but I've been friends with him a hell of a lot longer and right now I'm pretty sure you've lost your mind." And with that, Eponine takes off running, leaving the others to pick up the mess she's left behind.

Cosette shakes her head, watching the other woman run before forcing a brave face and turning towards the men. "I can't believe you two," she mutters, hand on her hip and looking quite terrifying for the first time in her life. "Don't you know anything about her? Don't you know what she's seen, don't you know that she's braver than you'll ever be? Sure, she's not always my favorite person, but she's a good one and you _apes_ have made her forget that. Whatever she does tonight, wherever she goes and whatever happens to her… I hope you realize what you've done."


	11. Bittersweet, part 2

Once she's safely out of the house, she runs. It barely crosses her mind that she looks like a proper lady, clad in a nice gown and dainty shoes - in her soul, she is still the same street girl she's always been, and she's going to act like that if it's the last thing she does. She's had the layout of the city memorized for years now, and finding her way from a grand upperclass neighborhood to somewhere more comfortable is second nature to her. It's just a matter of time and place, and tonight she is mistress of both.

He loves her. The words echo in her mind, haunting her late into the night, long after she makes herself a little nest in an alleyway. He loves _her_, throwaway girl who crashed into his life and destroyed it. _He_, perfect and golden and so broken even though he swears he's fine, found room in his heart for her. How that happened, she doesn't want to know. People like him don't waste their time on people like her - the world doesn't work that way, it's a fact she knows all too well. And yet he did, and she's all the more broken for it.

After a while, she starts crying. Her dress is muddied, shoes ditched along the way because it's easier to run barefoot, but she barely notices these things that might otherwise ruin her night. One chance, one _fucking_ chance, and she's gone and ruined it. What did he see in her that was worth saving? Heaven knows she's never going to find out, not after how that went down. She is worthless, unwanted, useless. What is there to do but give up?

She hovers in that state for hours, on the verge of so many things, until she swears she sees an angel coming towards her. For a moment, she believes it is one, until the figure nears and she notes that it looks too ragged to be an actual proper angel. No… is it? Could it be?

"There you are." His voice is ragged, but there's a certain relief as he closes the distance between them and kneels down beside her. "You didn't need to run. I didn't mean…"

"No," she interjects. "I _did_ need to run. Because people like you - even in this state you're in now, more ghost than man - don't waste their time on people like me. Not like you have. If you had any sense of decency, you would've fucked me and cast me aside and I would've considered myself lucky. But no. You _loved_ me." She spits the words out like some kind of curse, glaring at him, eyes clearer than they ought to be after a night of quiet sobbing. "You ruined me."

He inches closer to her and reaches out, arms wrapping around her body and pulling her into him. To his surprise, she doesn't fight back, but she makes no move to reciprocate the affection. "Is that what you would've wanted?" he asks, looking her dead in the eyes. "Is that really what you wanted me to do to you?"

"No," she whispers. "But I thought you would. Expected it. Was ready to give you everything, all that's left of me, because of your kindness. But you never asked."

His fingers begin to play with her hair, a tangled mess by now but every bit as captivating as the rest of her. "I couldn't. It wouldn't be right."

"But would it be now? If I offered myself, would you take me?" There's scarcely a hint of emotion in her voice, just simple acceptance and honesty.

He stares at her for a few moments, searching for signs of life in her face. "If you wanted me to," he says after a while. "But not now. Not like this. You're not alright, my mouse. You need to come home, need to sleep, need to rest… we'll talk about it in the morning, I promise."

In a fluid motion, he picks her up off the ground - she's light in his arms, so alarmingly tiny still - and begins the walk home. There will be answers later, but in the half-light of early morning in a questionable corner of Paris, there are only questions. What now?


	12. Breathe Again

When they wake, their bodies are entwined, arms around waists and legs knotted together. It is all he can do to push away from her, and though their actions have remained completely innocent, there's a sensation in the air that something has truly changed between them. This time, Enjolras tells himself, he won't let it go.

He reaches over and pushes stray hair away from her face, admiring the way the afternoon light accentuates her profile. She is beautiful, he thinks, and yet so unaware of what he's seen all along. This girl - woman, he reminds himself, the body lying next to him and clad only in a shift is definitely not that of a child - has changed him, given him hope. She's taken his nightmares and given him something to fight for - and yet she cannot accept it. "What are you?" he whispers, hoping she can't hear him. "Angel, mouse, precious one…"

"Mmh?" she mumbles, eyes fluttering open. She doesn't expect to see him next to her, hovering over her like the ghost she swears he his, but it's a nice sight.

"Nothing," he mutters, slipping out from under the sheets and trying to get as much distance from her. "Nothing."

"Not nothing," she counters, almost laughing. "You called me an angel. I heard you."

He knows there's no use in denying it and gives her a look that he hopes expresses his regret. "You're so peaceful when you're sleeping, _ma souris_. I didn't mean…"

"You meant it," and now she's upright and walking towards him with that glimmer in her eyes that he has no hope of resisting. "You meant it," and she's close enough to touch him. "You _love_ me," and her arms wrap around his shoulders and she's close enough to kiss him. "You _want_ me," and she does, lips against lips with total innocence. It's a start.

He wants to resist, wants to tell her it still isn't right, but he's done with saying no to her. "I want you," he repeats, kissing her properly for the first time. "I want you."

"Then show me," she coos, and he does.

_Fin._


End file.
